Ghost
by Abitofeveryfandom
Summary: How did he end up here again?
1. Prologue

**Ghost: Chapter one**

He couldn't, he wouldn't, he shouldn't, but he had. And now his life was in shambles. He knew emotions were difficult and messy, that's why he always acted so cold. But now something inside him had given up. Something had opened the dam and now he couldn't stop crying. Slowly, he reached out for a tissue, but he found the box on the bedside table was empty. As he started sobbing even louder, a though crossed his mind, but he discarded it quickly. That was an awful idea, right? But it wasn't impossible, nor was it really difficult, if he could just...

"No! Goddamn it O' Connor, control my arse. You can't even handle your own feelings"

Feelings were such an incredibly confusing concept. How can one person stock so many different things inside of them without bursting? He felt like bursting, like evaporating really. Away from the empty tissue box, the tear-soaked pillow, the voice echoing in his ears over and over again. His voice. He had been the first to break though Enoch's shield of cold and bitter stares. After years of not talking to people and ignoring whatever nonsense is heart was screaming at him, that stupid boy had ruined everything. And slowly, it was getting too much.

'Argh! Stop it! Get out of my head, stop, STOP!'

He didn't know where he had ended up. It was dark, almost reset time, most likely. he looked around, carefully taking in his surroundings. In a blind haze of anger and confusion he had fled out of the house and stranded... on the beach?

"So creative O' Connor, because they can't find you here, can they?"

Mentally insulting himself had become a habit. Ever since he had come, Enoch had been like this. For a month it was going on already, and it seemed like this wasn't the end yet. Nor was it the beginning in fact. But, as Bronwyn used to say so often when reading bedtime stories to the little ones, "The middle of a story is always the worse, it gets better at the end."

But what about the beginning then?


	2. I'm Jacob, Jacob Portman

**Ghost Chapter 2**

'Oookay, just a little bit further and then…'

'Why don't you come and meet Enoch in person?'

He let out a deep sigh. The necromancer in question was incredibly disgruntled that someone dared to not only interrupt him in the middle of his work, but also barge into his room without even knocking on the door. He was about to say something, head still directed towards his desk, when he felt a familiar touch on his shoulder. Finally looking up, Enoch saw Olive behind him with that same motherly smile she had always worn in front of him. It was something that still managed to confuse the boy; after all, he was older than her. She nodded towards the person standing before the desk.

Wait… before the desk? Indeed, there was a boy with black hair and innocent blue eyes standing right there - in front of his desk. A person he had never seen before, without permission to enter his room, without even any familiar features. But those features, damn were they handsome.

'Holy bird', Enoch muttered under his breath. Whatever way you turned it, this stranger was really _really_ good looking. He smiled.

" _Oh god, that smile…"_

'Hi, you're Enoch I suppose? I'm Jacob, Jacob Portman.' He held out his hand for the other to shake, but he just sat there as if he had been turned to stone, mouth hanging slightly open. Jacob scratched the back of his head with his left hand and pushed the other a bit closer to Enoch's face.

'I, uhm, just turned sixteen, what about you?' he was growing more uncomfortable with each second passing. Just when he wanted to pull his hand away, Enoch grabbed it loosely and shook it.

'Enoch O 'Connor, seventeen give or take, I-'

Olive suddenly squealed, throwing both the boys off guard.

'Look, you're already becoming friends!' she clapped her hands together and lightly bounced in place. The huge grin on her face quickly disappeared as Enoch shot her an aggressive glare before stomping out of the room.

He knew Olive would talk to him about running off like this, he knew Jacob would be puzzled about the sudden mood swing, but most of all he knew that if he stayed in the same room as that boy any longer, he would have freaked. His thoughts went off wondering about who he was. Jacob Portman, it was an American name, so was his accent. And his voice, smooth as silk. How did an American end up here in Cornwall? In a loop full of peculiars at that. Then the pieces clicked together. Portman, _Abe_ Portman. Something twisted in his gut. Feeling increasingly uncomfortable about the whole situation, he decided to join Horace who was reading under one of Fiona's garden statues; seeing he had wandered off into the garden. The younger boy was reading some kind of dream-related book –judging by the cover. It showed a bunch of stars and swirls held together by a sun and a moon on either side. Horace caught him staring and waved enthusiastically. Enoch scoffed lightly at the sight, but sat next to him anyways. Whilst normally he was quite content being on his own surrounded by clay puppets only, even necromancers needed human contact every once in a while. Horace was one of the less bothersome kids in the home. The little ones were too active, Olive too shy, Emma too fierce. Millard was okay, but only when he was wearing clothes. Because, admit it, no one likes conversing with a naked kid, however smart he may be. The blond boy put his book and monocle to the side and looked at Enoch with that piercing gaze of his.

'I dreamed about you, you know', he said.

'What? Me? But I thought…'

'You weren't alone in the dream, there was someone with you. That's why. They were begging for you to talk to them. I think you locked yourself in your room or something, though I'm not entirely sure. It was incredibly vague…' Horace's voice faded out as Enoch's mind went into a frenzy once again.

Enoch was getting more puzzled with the second. Horace had prophetic dreams, yes. But normally he didn't dream about any of the children in the home because he 'cared about them too much' this apparently clouded his vision. But now, clearly, he had found a way to dream about him anyway, regardless of any caring issues. Just his luck…

'It was Jacob'


End file.
